


Lost and found

by Eule



Category: The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: Hurt Aramis, Hurt Athos, unknown bandits death
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-08-09
Updated: 2018-08-09
Packaged: 2019-06-24 13:01:15
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,094
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15631197
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Eule/pseuds/Eule
Summary: Athos is bad with directions, Aramis hates it when wounds are involved and than the situation goes rapidly south...





	Lost and found

„You’re bleeding. “ Athos sighted and turned around to look at Aramis. Aramis frowned and his eyes, with a small pupil and one blown wide, were glassy.  
“As I told you before, it isn’t bad, just a scratch. Do not think about it and follow me.” It seemed that Aramis wanted to say something, but Athos cut him off. “That was an order. Don’t ask questions, just follow me.” And as an afterthought. “Warn me if you have to vomit again.”  
Aramis stared at him, maybe to understand everything Athos had said, but followed without resistance when Athos moved on.

The both of them had been ambushed on their way back from a mission. They had delivered a letter from the king to a duke and decided to split up in two groups for their way back. Porthos and D’Artagnan had the letter from the duke for the king and Athos hoped they were back in Paris by now. 

They had walked for another fifteen minutes when Aramis breathing changed. Athos knew what would come next, because they had this conversation more than once since the ambush.  
“You’re bleeding.” Athos sighted again and turned around once more. Aramis face was pale and the makeshift bandage around his head was soaked through with blood, where the stock of a pistol had hit him and created a bleeding gash at his temple. Fortunately the scar would disappear behind that mop of brown curls, Athos knew he need to stich it, but they were not safe here. They can’t stop.  
“I know Aramis. It isn’t bad, only a scratch. We have to keep going until we find a village where we could stop for the night.”  
Maybe that explanation would stop his fellow musketeer from asking the same question every few minutes. But he doubted it, Aramis was concussed and as to proof that fact, he turned sideways and vomited in the high grass right beneath the path. Athos grabbed him by the collar of his jacket to prevent him from falling face first in the mess on the ground afterwards. But there wasn’t much he could bring up, it was the third time this episode of their journey repeated itself and Athos knew they need to find shelter soon.  
He helped Aramis back to his feet and hissed when the movement jarred the bleeding wound on his upper arm. Aramis swayed alarmingly and Athos took a hold on his elbow. It was clear that he won’t be able to walk alone.  
“We have to move on Aramis, only a few more minutes, until we find shelter for the night. You are good to walk a little bit more?” He asked, voice soft and Aramis nodded. Barely visible but a more pronounced nod could have led to more vomiting, so it was alright.

Athos helped Aramis to move further. The few more minutes had been a lie, but he doubted that Aramis will remember that statement in the morning, god, he won’t remember it twelve meters away from here. 

So when Aramis stopped next Athos was surprised to hear a whispered: “Athos, where are we?” from the marksman. And that question was far worse than his earlier statement of the bleeding, because Athos didn’t know. They were somewhere on their way back from Chartres to Paris. Somewhere away from the main road, he had to admit that they were a little bit lost.  
He wasn’t the best with directions that was Aramis and D’Artagnans part. Porthos knew every corner of Paris and was able to seek out the underground and getting information out of everyone and everything. He wasn’t sure about his useful abilities; maybe he was like a truffle pig only for wine or alcohol in general. But that wasn’t the important thing right now; he had to say something plausible to Aramis.  
“We are on our way back to Paris ‘mis, we came from Chartres and were ambushed. We had to hide and are walking next to the main road.” Not a lie, but not the whole truth either. But Aramis seemed satisfied and they moved on.

 

The sun began to sink when Aramis stopped next. Athos had wondered if Aramis could remember things again and hadn’t had to ask for more information again, but the next question proofed it otherwise. “Athos you are bleeding, why are we walking when you are bleeding?” He sounded almost childlike, but before he could answer he heard footsteps behind them. A lot of footsteps and to near for his liking. He dragged Aramis behind some thick bushes and gesticulated that he should be quiet. He seemed aware enough to follow his order and sat behind him, wide eyes looking frantically from left to right. He hadn’t heard the footsteps yet. Athos had his main gauche in one hand and listened intently. 

 

“What do you mean, they aren’t here yet?” Porthos asked and starred at Treville, who shook his head.  
“They should have arrived yesterday, they were a day’s ride ahead of us”, D’Artagnan said.  
“They aren’t here yet. Maybe they had to change their route or one of the horses went lame. There are a lot of things that could have happened”, Treville reasoned but knew, that the two men in front of him weren’t convinced. As to verify his thoughts Porthos mumbled: “Yeah, or they are lying bleeding and unconscious somewhere beside the road.”  
Treville sighted, he could understand them, but he wouldn’t be a good captain if he send out a search party for every musketeer who was late from a mission. The whole garrison would be empty, most of the men out to search for someone who didn’t need to be found. “You two are dismissed and not allowed to go out and search for them. When they will not be back by tomorrow evening, we will talk anew.” Porthos and D’Artagnan weren’t happy about that decision, but they wouldn’t disobey a direct order.

 

The footsteps were coming closer and Athos hold his breath. He had counted six men at the ambush this morning. They had killed two and one or two were definitely wounded, so it had to be three or four men coming down the narrow path they had followed out of the forest. Maybe it would be only a few farmers who chopped down some trees for the village, but he didn’t think so. When the four men came into view his suspicion was proofed right, that were the men from the ambush.

One was sporting a black eye and his arm was in a sling, another one wore a bloodied jacket and Athos could see a bandage underneath. He had his arm wrapped protective around his belly. 

“Where are those bastards? They can’t have gone that far. Maybe we passed them on our way here? Lying under some bushes or hiding behind one of these great oaks near the small clearing. Pierre what do you think?” One of them lamented and the group stopped right in front of their hiding place.  
“Yes maybe they found a place to hide, but I don’t think so. Let us go a little bit further. We will turn around when it is getting dark.” 

 

Athos could only see two pairs of boots and got the feeling that they had been discovered. The whole conversation was a diversionary tactic to let them feel safe.  
It was only a few seconds later, that he heard a noise and parried the sharp blade from one of the bandits only inches away from Aramis face. He rolled out of the bushes and pulled his rapier.  
His body was fighting even before his mind had totally understood what he was doing. Aramis stayed hidden and Athos hoped that they may be able to come out of this alive. The two wounded men weren’t a match for him and he took them down within moments. The other two were harder to fight and he had to admit, that his strength was fading. His left arm throbbed and he thought it was bleeding again, but there was no time to check it. He only hoped that Aramis would stay inside the bush and that his two opponents were to occupied with him to remember that there has to be somebody else. 

 

Aramis could hear the sound from steel on steel, but can’t quite figure out what it meant. His head hurt and everything was a little bit fuzzy. When he moved to fast he felt nauseous and he thought to remember vomiting earlier that day. And somebody was bleeding. Probably himself? He wore a bandage after all, but it didn’t fit. It wasn’t him he had been worried about. He closed his eyes, without realizing he was hiding in some bushes and tried to remember, while the sun began to sink behind the horizon.

 

“It doesn’t feel right”, Porthos muttered and starred darkly into his cup of wine. D’Artagnan nodded. They sat at their usual table in the yard and were staring at the gate. Hopeful that their friends would come in every moment, with an harmless and amusing story which explained why they were late. But they weren’t coming. 

 

Athos felt his left food slip on the uneven ground and parried the rapier of his opponent in the last moment, but felt as another blade connected with his hip. But it didn’t dug to deep, because he moved away fast enough from it while starting an attack at the other man. But it burned non the less. He had to end this fight as fast as possible. 

 

Aramis opened his eyes only to squeeze them shut again. The light hurt like hell, but he remembered bits and pieces of their mission. D’Artagnan and Porthos had taken another route one day after their own departure from Chartres. Athos and he had been ambushed, but after that everything went black. He knew Athos had talked to him and had wrapped a piece of his shirt around his head to stop the bleeding. Another piece of fabric was bound around Athos arm. Had they treated the wounds? Most likely not and he can’t remember sleeping, so they were still on the day of the ambush. They got away, but had been followed and found, when he could trust the noises outside his hiding place.  
He opened his eyes again, slower this time, and starred at the green leaves of a bush. Right, he was hiding, so there was nothing unexpected here. He carefully took a look through the leaves and could see Athos fighting against two men in black leather capes. Two more men lay on the ground, if unconsciousness or dead he can’t tell, but he saw that Athos strength was would come to an end soon. He has to do something.

 

Athos knew he can’t beat them in a fair fight, so he maneuvered himself into a position he didn’t like, but saw as the only possibility to cut one of them down. He was between them, one man in front of him, the other at his back. He can’t see him properly, but he didn’t need to. When he sensed that they thought they had him, he made a few quick strikes with his rapier and while defending the coming attacks with his main gauche. Then he pretended to lose his footing and ducked himself out of the blades way the moment his opponent wanted to place his final strike.  
While he laid on the floor he could see how the man killed his companion instead of him, the sharp blade sliding easily through the flesh of the second man. He got up on his feet again panting and stood before the last bandit who pulled his blade out of his dying comrade. 

 

Aramis had loaded his pistol without his usual grace or speed, but it was ready when Athos killed the third bandit. His muddled brain understood that Athos had planned that maneuver while fighting two opponents at once and he can’t suppress the feeling of safety that washed over him. Athos had the situation under control; he would do everything to bring them back to the Garrison alive. But he didn’t hesitate to aim at the last bandit and fire his pistol.  
Hot white pain exploded in his head when his pistol fired, the small ball killing the last bandit. But the loud noise next to his injured and concussed head was too much and the last thing he heard was Athos frantically screaming his name, than everything went black.


End file.
